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“TREE” is a dance of the Elements.

“MAN” is a dance of the Elements.

“SPIRIT” is the shape that dance takes.

What is a tree?
Is it the root, invisible and gigantic beneath the ground?
Is it the trunk and branches?
Is it the leaves, the fruit, the flowers?
Is it the wind that moves the leaves, evaporates and moves the water, that carries pollen and fertilises the seed?
Is it the water that continually moves in, up and out, from the root to the leaf-tip?
Is it the sun, the food that turns stone to life and leaf?

Where does a tree begin and where does it end?
What moves through it belongs to it – courses through every cell, acts on every membrane. What enters the tree becomes the tree. We are not distinct from the water in our cells, the minerals in our bones, and the same is true in the tree.

The edges of things begin to blur when we start to become as quiet and attentive as a tree. The human being grows tendrils and leaves, the tree looks back with silent eyes.

This is the beginning of Tree Spirit Healing: knowing that the boundaries between this and that are only of use if we can forget them when the need arises. Boundaries are safety nets, but they can also become poisons.

Holding polarities without being chained by them is what trees show us continually. Healing fails to happen when part of us believes that the situation we are in is immovable. Chained like a prisoner shackled to a wall who is unable to reach the water dripping through the roof, we die of thirst, we fall ill and cannot become well because, at some level, access to what is required by the body is not available or is not visible to us.

As human beings we are truly “only human beings”, with the perspective and patterning of human beings. We know less than we believe we know because we tend to cling to the facts that we have chosen to accept whilst rejecting everything else: (this is true, this is real, all that is untrue, all that is unreal). WE do not know about new things and so reject or ignore them.

“Only human beings” reminds us of our intellectual and bodily limits. However, “only human beings” means also that we must remember that in the same way as a tree is made up of stone, water, air and sun, all held in the pattern that we define as ‘tree’, we as human beings, are also part of the contigious, continual, seamless flow of energy that moves through the universe.

“Only human beings” means that we should remember not to take our own sense of importance too seriously, but, on the other hand, we should remember that we are not apart from, but instead we are a part of, creation.

If we believe that we are separate and special (more separate and more special than all other things), then we are like a tree that pulls up its own roots and refuses to be associated with water and mud and rock and wind, because it sees itself as something different from what the world has made it. When this happens, separated from what we are, we will soon begin to fade and suffer.

A tree is a tube of spirit through which the energies of the world can move.
Being in the presence of a tree and its spirit we can feel the movement of this energy again. Our edges soften, our roots spread deeper, our “but….” awareness quietens down and we become happier to let go and breath life through our own tube – the tube of our body, of our personal history, of our awareness.

No excuses – tree awareness is.

That is why the image of the Green Man is so potent. It shows the ever-awake stare of the spirit of tree nature, plant nature, that has no care for the excuses of language – those fabrications we carefully build up to give reasons to others and to ourselves why we are this and not that, why we do this and don’t do that.

We are the storytellers who have forgotten what we are. Forgotten that we can story-tell our way both in to and out of the life we live.

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ASH CHARMS

I

Ash bow
Ash spear
Ash beam
Ash eye.

Ash beam shelter me.
Ash bow direct me.
Ash spear guard me.
Ash eye watch over me.

Thirteen moons
There are in one year.
Thirteen times I call on you.
Thirteen watchers watch over me.

II

Ash Lady
Ash Lord
I see on the hillside
A grey horse with black hooves.
In the valley,
A straight spear with iron head.
A strong stream with purple fountains.
A bright hall filled with laughter.
A vessel for moonlight.
A heart that sees,
A well of vision,
A hand of harmony.

Air clothes rock.
Earth clothes root.
Peace clothes anger.
Song clothes silence.
Light clothes all.

III

Ash above,
Shelter me.

Ash below,
Support me.

Ash,
Standing high,
Standing firm.

—–

Commentary of kennings
The associations and symbolism were not particularly contrived as I wrote down these words. They seemed to flow out naturally from the form and qualities of the Ash.

The physical properties of ash wood, its strength and flexibility, make it ideal for the manufacture of bows, spear shafts and roof beams. The cross-section of ash shows a small pithy centre in the shape of an eye. The ash spear was associated with Odin, shaman warrior god of the North. Odin left one of his eyes with the giant Mimir at the well below the roots of the World Tree in order to gain transcendent knowledge. The World Tree is associated with the ash- so the ash spear is itself a kenning for the World Tree, the Universe.

Ash bears sometimes mainly male flowers, sometimes mainly female flowers, sometimes both on the same tree.

The number of leaflets making up each frond of ash ranges between nine, eleven and thirteen all lunar numbers.

In winter the ash shows its smooth grey bark punctuated with charcoal-black buds that resemble horse’s hooves. This visual association with horses also links to Odin’s horse, the tree he hung from to cognise the runes as well as the hangman’s gibbet.

A straight spear: the young saplings resemble spears, but ash made excellent spear shafts as well.

All trees are vertical fountains of water. Ash flowers, tiny purple red sprays in spring resemble that energy emerging from the inside of the trunk.

All trees are habitats for a multitude of creatures. Ash, though a large tree, has a light, open appearance as the leaves cast only a light shade. Ash is the best wood for roof beams – more flexible and stress-resistant than harder, heavier woods like oak. Unusually ashwood burns hot and bright whether green or seasoned.

The tree spirit energy encourages flexibility and harmony with surroundings. Strength and firm support, the ability to abide lightly.

The images are of the Tree Spirit Key of the Ash. It echoes the leaf shape, the spear head, the strong energy field, the inner and outer……

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An Apple Song for the Ripening Year.

Now that the year falls full
and the fruit weighs heavier each day
on the green branches;

Now that the sun
Fills the air with heat
And rolls all night just below
The distant hills

Now, it is right to sing
Of the Giver of Fire,
The Fulfiller,
The World’s Heart,
Illuminated Joy.

I breathe in with my open eyes
Sucking the distance.

Sweet sunlight
Washing away
Completed time.

I breathe out along the long length
Of my arms and legs,
Flow from fingers and toes.

Sweet sunlight
Washing away
Completed time.

The apple is the quintessential fruit of the West. Indeed the word ‘apple’ is synonymous with ‘fruit’, hence many very different fruits are given its name: oak apple, May apple, pineapple… In the mythologies of the West it is the food of the gods, the ambrosia that enables immortality and delight in the regions of Paradise. It is linked to goddesses and golden light. Its shape mysteriously echoes the orbital path of the planet Venus, and cut horizontally displays the fivefold pentagram of the druids. The spirit energy of apple is a cleanser and purifier, satisfying and sustaining. The apple produces seed that will always have unique characteristics of form, taste and appearance. Apple is the epitome of abundance, the fullness and surprise of life.

The bright golden sun
I carry on the dark road.

The golden-haired one
Has given me
A tree of golden suns.

The bright golden one
Lightens my heart,
Illuminates my path.

The bright golden one
Leads me to rest
In the arms of summer.

The bright golden one
Leads me to feast
On the satisfaction of sunsets.

The bright golden one
Bathes me in bliss.

The bright golden one
Eases my journey
And leads me home.

The spirit of apple will help whenever one to wake up to what is unnecessary or harmful in life. It instigates cleansing processes. It sharpens awareness, counters indecision, fills with brightness and encourages an outward-looking optimism.

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The opening artwork is “Light of Summer Solstice” from “The Light of Sovereignty” set of prints. The endpiece is ” Apple: Spirit of Purification”. Both are available from <a href="www.greenmanshop.co.uk

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A scattering of seeds,
Settings without forethought,
Each a word, a thought,
A gesture, a line.

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Taking root
In the familiar dust –
The footprints of ancestors,
Hollow lines of habit,

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Trains of thought
That may become
A weed of bitterness,
That may become
A tree of song.

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All life, though-
All a dance
Of molecules,
Of spirit.

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We are the dust that sings
An experiment in harmonies
A coagulation of light
A stratigraphy of memory.

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We are the dust that sings.
Should that song cease-
Motes floating in sunlit silence.

If I have no audience
But the vortices of space

I will resonate
And be resonant.

Power resides
Where power flows.

Isotopes of emotion,
Geometrics of the heart:
song, chant and prayer.

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CROW VOICES

Two very different pieces inspired by crows. The graphics are with “Zen Brush”- a really nice app. Though with some limitations, it is elegant and great tactile fun. The kanji is (supposed to be) ” karasu”. – crow, that seems to be made up from the elements of ‘black’ and ‘bird’.
The first piece was written in Tokyo this May. The crows there are raucous with great thick beaks, always talking to each other. One would always wake up about four in the morning, before dawn, fly around a bit calling to the others. They would wake much later around six. Wherever you go there will be a crow flying, calling, perching, watching. A city made for crows.
The second piece I recovered from an old diary. It has the flavour of a spell, though I am not sure for what, other than the unique shining-eye, crow consciousness, piercing perception, non-judgemental being.

I

Tokyo crows:
Everywhere you look,
Perched, watching,
Diving between buildings.

Even when they are
Out of sight:
Their voices, calling
Laughing.

In the air
Over human world,
Crow world.

Samurai eyes,
Katana beaks.
Guardians of silence:
Keeping it safe
From human ears!

II

I am neither this nor that
Wingbeats black and wingbeats white.
I am neither this nor that
A sharp voice that cracks the mountains.
I am neither here nor there
Echoing in the valleys, in the forests.
I am neither one nor many
Encompassing power
Rising in the cold blue.
Sharp eye
Long eye
Sharp beak
Long beak
Strong claw
Long claw.
Mind and memory,
Past and future,
I am neither this nor that
Flying between worlds
Masterless, masterful
Obeying laws
Breaking complacency
Waking the dreaming
Between sunrise and sunset.

———

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SPELL CHARM FOR SUCCESS

I have planted a seed
Where the warm sun warms the soil.
It has grown a tree of strength,
An oak of stability.

I have planted a seed
Where the sweet rains water the roots.
It has grown a tree of abundance,
An oak of plenty.

I have planted a seed
Where the soft winds breathe balm.
It has grown a tree of protection,
An oak of nourishment.

I have planted a seed
Where the deep soil nurtures.
It has grown a tree of wonder,
An oak of magnificence,
A poplar of song
A birch of beauty
A willow of grace
A pine of clarity
A cherry of openness
A yew of permanenece
A door of achievement
A hall of splendour
Well-rooted,
Celebrated by all.

All the bright birds
Flock to roost-
Their noisy chatter
At dawn and dusk.
A home for brightness
A home to rest in.

They came from far horizons
They came to hear the leaf’s song
They came to hear the roots wisdom.
Bright blossom, sweet fruit,
Quiet shade, peace of fullness.

A tree from a seed.
A prize froma hope.
A song from a whisper.
A gathering of minds.
A glistening of gold.
A glory of attainment.

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Here are some flashing, slippery shoals of words trawled from scrawled diaries. They come from the same period, around 2007, but are in my mind as we have just returned from a teaching trip to Japan. The world has moved on: media feeding on juicier, more ephemeral pastures, people tired of the same terror, the same politics. But there, they live with invisible threats of death, unknown forces foisted, though accepted, by those whose microscopic arrogance allows the possibility of endless rot to infest all future histories. Plutonium is not an “acceptible risk”…….

Spells are songs that sink below the surface to the deepest tides of Mind. If nothing else they bring strength and succour. The only thing we may possibly, ultimately control is our own orientation, our own perspective. Hope is a self-replicating energy. Language is its vehicle. Please use these words if you need to raise your energy integrity.

As usual, most of the charms and spells flow from the English and British traditions of pagan Celt and Anglo-Saxon. They flow from the bardic perception of the weaving of words is equivalent to the weaving of worlds. Resonance that leaps off one tongue into listening, nodding minds. Resonant because it carries the echoes of numberless generations of ancestors and forebears….

MELTING OF OBSTACLES

I

Listen the way is
Cold. It burns, in
darkness, the treasure
Hid in secret.

Advice to act according
To Nature’s law.
Revealed to memory,
Secrets.

Ask the way.
The unexpected
Can be seen, treasure
Revealed.

Hold steady,
Courage
Will bring completion.

Words (spells) and actions
Break down rigidities.
Fire brings light
To see what is yours (true treasure)
Can be uncovered.

II

Thorn to throne:
What hinders hides.
Hard turns haven, harbour,
Well-woven, wrought right.
The road ready,
Naught stays,
Sleek, slender, slides safely.

Before stands day’s door:
A way.
Sunlight’s splendour,
Storm’s silence.

Giant becomes stone
Stone becomes ice
Ice melts to water
Water sinks to earth
Seed stirs strong
Green shoot of life.

Snake sloughs skin.
River of sunlight:
Golden road
Glory road.
Sun’s shaft
Breaks cloud.

SHIELD

Song called shield.
Three times cast,
Three times it falls short:
No way through.
The song called shield
Is strong as rock,
Strong as air,
Strong as water,
Strong as fire,
Will not break
Will not shatter.
Shielding safe:
Strong shelter
Breath of life,
Never faltering.
Blood of life,
Never stilling.
Heart of life,
Never stilling.
Heart of life,
Strong and safe.
Singing the song called shield.
The earth is my witness,
Never shall it fail.

————

STAR PROTECTORS

From here our souls reach out
From here our spirits reach out
From here our hands reach out
From here our voices reach out.
We are the star protectors
Present within the smallest dust of life,
In the moment of dissolution,
In the second of creation,
In the breath between breathing
Regardless of time
Regardless of space
The well of light
Sustains all
Look up
Look in
Look out
Insistent dwellers of forever,
From here we begin.

——–

CHARM FOR IMMANENCE

Words
No words
Thoughts
No thoughts
Breathing in
Breathing out.
Stars, songs,
Memories, feelings.
Not choosing
But life flows through me.
Not choosing
But power flows through me.
Not choosing
I am sustained.
Not choosing
But all dissonances
Fall away.
Not choosing
But falling into harmony.
Not choosing
Not moving
Not deciding
Not thinking
Not speaking.
Breathing time,
Breathing light,
Breathing stars.

——-

NOVEMBER SONG

Sky is blind eyes
Earth is cold bones
Night birds
Night birds
Cold wind crumples leaves.

——-

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Dragon Island

Today is a day of rain, the Tokyo crows silent in the downpour. It is rain that surrounds, that one can hear from all directions at once – a tent of sound enclosing the world…..

There are places that seem to thresholds, where we can stand on tip-toe and almost see beyond the horizon; where the air is different, where things are not quite what they seem; edgy places, dangerous places, where the still and the moving, animate and inanimate, dead and living all dream similar dreams……

Japan sits on a line where the upper world slides into the lower world, a continuous spiritual and material escalator of recycled matter, of fire exploding into the sea, rising again as a ball of sun from the distant waters…..

Mount Fuji is the axis, the gnomon, the guardian, the protector, the landlord, the central focus; indicator of the connection still with the gods who dropped, raised, shaped the islands of Japan from the ocean mud….

Within the doors are other doors, other entrances, other sensitive spots. Enoshima is one such place. A microcosm, as they all inevitably are. Small outcropping of rock where river slices the black curve of sand. A small green hill rising from the sea, not quite an island, like many holy places. Small, bejewelled with trees, all steep steps up and down, a maze of shrines and sacred stones all dripping with rain. The shop keepers and food vendors had given up…..

Exposed rock is like frozen, fractured dragon skin, scaly, animate, sharp and smoothed at the same time. Up and over the hill to the seaward side, the symbols begin to come alive: a deep cleft descending to the sea, then a low curve of flat rock, tongue or tail, sweeping out into the waves…

The place resounds with the whispers of dragons. Dragon house shrine, small and dark, bright mirror sending to those waiting outside, acknowledgement, beneficence, amusement…..

The stories, a delight for Freudians no doubt:
Story One: fierce dragon eating the people falls in love with beautiful maiden who will only marry him if he stops eating the relatives. Eventually he calms down and settles to family life.

Story Two: a fisherman rescues a turtle from teasing children, is given a ride to the Palace of the Dragon King under the waves, spends a nice time with dancing girls. When he gets a ride back home, he’s been away for a hundred years….

Dragon caves, long and low, a slow descent to the shore, roaring water, full of snake imagery and patient boddhisattvas….

Beloved of poets, shoguns and lovers, melancholic watchers of distant Mt. Fuji (who as usual, was busy and not available to attend in person)…….

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Buried for thousands of years, poisonous suns below the ground. What logic determines the acceptibility of detritus that will kill generations and remain longer than even the memory of all our past civilisations? What arrogant genes have promulgated, what insouciance in the face of such terrible stupidity? No wonder the sages shrugged and remained silent, no wonder Lailokan and Merlin raved in the forests – what is learned at great cost ignored, what is gained forgotten or ridiculed.

Apologies for another bardic rant. Out of the news, out of mind, the people of Japan again silently suffering from the arrogant stupidity of “experts”. The tsunami of radiation will not retreat like the wave of water; it will not stop at national boundaries; it will not dissappear in a little while; it will not get better; it is a breath that carries everywhere, that keeps on as close to forever as we cqn conceive. (There is some hope on the fringes of science for remedies, unexplained, ridiculed, misunderstood ideas and technolgies: the ghosts of Tesla and Brown screaming unheard from the unfashionable beyond). I do not give up hope for viable solutions, but it is hard to imagine the tsunami of motivation needed to shift the vast inertia generated by a handful of complacent super-rich who seem to have their hands down the knickers of our ‘leaders’. THis satire is for them…..

Dance of Death
Danse macabre…
woodblock print, wordless,
unerring.

Breugal, Durer, Gya,
Marvell, Donne, Tallis, Byrd,
dear sad Dowland,
the generations of
beauty borne from the midden –

As ever,
the food of the world,
the forgotten,
lost in dirt, unnoticed.

A curl of boxwood
by the sharp burin made.
Passion and despair
carved, the only posterity
in ink and paper
as flesh fals off the bone
in the oven of years,
stripped of all softness
of all flesh.
Yet the heart of compassion remains –
a bitter laugh sweetened with tears
for the lost forever.

Here a bishop led by the nose,
bony fingers clack,
a castenet of dry laughter,
a leer of inevitability

Here a velvet lady,
snake-wrapped, bone-hard lover,
breathless, heartless,
gropes.
She, dreaming,
distant,
oblivious of inevitability,
of immanence…..

The same old justifications:
sharp swords and blunt logic…..

Marching locusts of the willing destroyers,
who have all been
promised forgiveness,
promised righteousness,
promised guiltless sin,
guileless depravity –
absolved of responsibility
by the eloquent poisoners,
the insane rhetoriticians
of respectability and honour….

Even the gods weary and die
after a thousand,
hundred thousand years…..

Earthquakes are no problem:
a shift of balance,
of perspective.
They come and they go,
readjustment, normal death.

Tsunami are no problem:
they come and go,
a breath in and a breath out,
sweeping clean a thousand memories,
leaving a tideline of grief.
Readjustment, normal death.

But now we, disbelieving in spirit,
disbelieve the power of the invisible:
our arguments faultless,
our safety margins appropriate,
our risks accaptible,
our doom inevitable…..

Setting a sun to burn for centuries
within the earth,
destroying universes to keep us warm.
Like gods, burning their children,
their children’s children,
warming their toes
on the withered hopes of the future.

Endless momento mori,
unasked for:
Suns of dying universes,
heavy as the depths of space –
heavier even,
a stain of arrogance
buried like a bone
“out of sight…”

A satire I place on the heads
of our stupid torturers,
dying gods
attempting to swamp
the sweet smell of rot
with attar and excuses…..

A satire I place on the eyes
of the shifty power-mongers,
the ones who forever
eat their offspring,
ignore the warnings,
doubt-free and glorious.
Dying gods
who believe it is all worthwhile,
a rosy future
no payment required
free credit…..

GAR.
I throw the spear of Odin
over your heads.
You are his.
Forever the fodder
of One Eye.
Sacrificed
manure,
food to all the jealous gods
who squabble
and rip the fabric of peace.
May his ravens,
ravening jaws of his wolves,
find your human heart
naked and open to the
laughter of the universe,
stripped of equations,
purged of clinical excellences,
the formulae of the demons of despair,
blown to dust,
the dust expunged of millenia of excuses,
naked, peerless, radiant, original.

A satire of the thunder of reality
I place on your tongue.
My bleached bones
and the fine white bleached bones
of our descendants, the white
soft, small skulls of our children,
the clacking bones, the tender bones-
they are my witness
they are my justification.
Eternal, adamantine bones,
invincible, patient,
relentless…….

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SPELLS AND CHANTS 1

Some scribblings and scratchings from a little while ago. The style is somewhat influenced by Old English herb charms and medieval Scottish /Celtic Church prayers. In the old days a spell and a prayer were the same thing, except that one had the backing of the Church and the other was regarded as ‘work o’ the De’el’. Just a matter of attitude really. A spell derives from the Germanic root meaning to sing, charm, enchant.

Poets and bards aim to enchant their listeners – putting their own thoughts, emotions and pictures in other people’s heads. A skill worthy of honour and gold in the old days. The druids’ little ditties could overthrow kings, raise armies, placate wrath, wither with shame, heal, bless and drive away sorrow. Art with function, or, the function of art.

Much of the old style verse was oblique, referring to tales everyone knew, associations that were obvious, taking words from sacred texts and using them directly or paraphrasing in a knowing way. To us they may seem archaic, episodic, sketchy but their creators knew the language of the deep mind, how to create resonance and emotion that evaded the smartass conscious mind, stirring things on the edges of sight, the boudaries between memory and dream.

Most of the words that flow into my head, do so of their own accord, and stay or leave, of their own accord. Sometimes we are able to be quiet enough to listen to what the world is singing, the spells that maintain, polish and exalt creation.

We are the dust that sings,
That is what we do best….

I

The Pleasurable Joy of Insignificance.

A seed on the breeze
Safe, floating
Away from reach

So small
In the hands of the world

So safe
Amidst the cloak of stars

So small
So safe
No threat

Floating free
Insignificant joy
Sparkle of bliss.

——–

II

ALDER SPELL

Bright warriors,
Fearless
As birds at dawn
Flying across the sun;
Sparks across the water –
Stars in daylight.

Alders by the ford
Birches on the mountainside
Oaks holding the green valley.

Bright warriors,
Relaxed
Radiant
Fearless
Upholding the sky
Feeling the turning world
Achieving balance
Famed for illuminated brows
Standing in the right place
Invincible as sunlight.

——-

III

SPELL: REVEALING OF SECRETS

Two ravens
Flying out of the sunset.

Nothing special,
But lingering resonance.

Thoughts and memories carried on light wings
Nothing special
But emergent patterns.

The end of the day, the long fade to night
Nothing special
Emergent patterns
Subsiding cadence
Nothing special.

Tasting life flowing
From here to there
Flying out of the sunset
Into the night.

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